


Lies, and Other Kindnesses

by MirandaBeth



Category: Press Gang
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:42:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirandaBeth/pseuds/MirandaBeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Inspector Hibbert has had a bad week. For what it's worth, he's not the only one.  "The Last Word" episode coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies, and Other Kindnesses

**Author's Note:**

> Major spoilers for Season 3 episodes 4-5, "The Last Word".

_"It is up to you, Inspector Hibbert, whether the Coopers should be told that their dead son did not die a hero… but since you are not only the police officer in charge of the investigation, but you are also delivering the eulogy, yours, in all senses, is the last word."_

To Detective Inspector Carl Hibbert, the fresh air outside the church was a relief, but the solitude of the grounds was even more welcome.

As weeks went, it was hard to imagine one more disastrous. Bad enough to be in charge of the investigation into Norbridge’s only gun siege in living memory, especially when it had ended in the tragic death of a young man _and_ no arrest. But far worse, the media fallout from the event had him so involved in damage control that he’d somehow missed the obvious in the case – that the half-dozen teenaged hostages he’d spent the week interviewing, certain they knew more than they were saying, had not been shielding a living killer after all. That there hadn’t been a murder at all, but a gunman’s suicide.

And now he had knowingly lied to a room full of the grieving relatives of the boy who’d caused all this damage in the first place.

"Well, you surprised Sarah," came a voice from behind him. He turned. Lynda Day stood by the side of the church building, hands tucked into her jacket pockets. "She didn’t think you’d do it."

"Lynda." He should be feeling angrier with this girl – she’d concealed evidence and manipulated him – but after shaking hands and giving condolences to a seemingly endless stream of people he’d just lied to, he was too drained. "Bit of a high-handed thing to do, don’t you think?"

She shrugged. "I didn’t want to tell you at all. Sarah said we’d never have any peace if we didn’t. We compromised."

He raised an eyebrow. "You, compromise?"

"Well, she was shouting a lot," Lynda said crossly. "I’m a bit sick of being shouted at just at the moment." She considered. "Getting better at keeping my cool though, and _she_ wasn’t even holding a gun."

He regarded her. "You’ve caused my department a lot of trouble this week."

"Well what do you want me to do about it?" she snapped. "I didn’t make this happen. It wouldn’t have _had_ to happen if you guys hadn’t messed it all up in the first place."

He shook his head. "Lynda, ever heard of a condition they call Stockholm Syndrome?"

"Of course!" she said. "I’m not stupid. And Kenny did some research this week. Did _you_ know that some people say that the condition doesn’t even exist? That the hostages in Stockholm were only responding logically to the situation they were in and the incompetent way the police dealt with it?"

"Is that what Kenny told you?"

"No, it’s what his psychology library book told me when I took it off him. _He_ told me what we were doing was a textbook case." She frowned, looking for a moment like the 17-year-old girl she was. "I think he might be a bit angry with me at the moment."

Carl thought about the first time he’d ever met Kenny Phillips, white-faced and at the point of collapse after hours at gunpoint. He thought about the story Kenny had blurted out through hysterical giggles, the story in which Lynda Day had used his loyalty to gamble with his life, and wondered if the boy hadn’t spent the last week asking himself some serious questions about his priorities.

Lynda shook herself. "Anyway, not my problem. I saved his stupid life. If he’s angry, he can _tell_ me. He can’t expect me to read his mind all the time. And I was right, anyway. I’m always right. He knows that. He was never in any danger."

"So he told me," Carl said. "Repeatedly. As did Spike."

"Well, you see then. I don’t know why you keep bringing this up!"

Carl didn’t bother pointing out that he hadn’t. It didn’t take a whole week of circular and evasive interviews with Lynda Day to learn a thing or two about her.

"So what do you think happens now, Lynda?" he said, folding his arms. "We all just forget this ever happened?"

"I was sort of hoping," Lynda said.

"It’s not as easy as that, you know. I’m not going to be able to drop the case without a good explanation."

"I have a plan for that," she said.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"There must be someone you can set up for this. Maybe there was a letter. Maybe the mysterious killer wrote a death threat before the attack, and it got lost at the bottom of my in-tray, but there’s just enough evidence to trace it back to him."

"Lynda."

"There _must_ be someone. Criminals slip through the cracks all the time. You must have a list of people you’re just dying to bring a murder charge against."

"Lynda, you know I’m not going to perjure myself just to satisfy your guilt."

That stopped her. "My _what_?"

He sighed. "Lynda, I shouldn’t have to tell you I’m not going to frame anyone for this. In fact, I’m not going to tell any more lies."

"My _guilt_? Just what do you think I have to feel _guilty_ about? All I’m doing is keeping a promise. I didn’t make him crazy. I didn’t ask you guys to come and wreck all my plans. I didn’t make him kill himself." She stopped, closing her eyes briefly.

"You don’t need to tell _me_ that," said Carl gently.

Lynda shook her head, looking annoyed about something. "You sound like Spike."

"Let me tell you what’s going to happen," Carl said. She folded her arms, looking at him belligerently, but there was a kind of meekness behind it. "I’m going to take statements from you and your friends again. _Accurate_ statements this time."

"You’ve _got_ the whole story," Lynda cut in sulkily. "Sarah wrote it all out for you. In great detail, and without a lot of getting to the point, but I can’t deny it was accurate."

"I’m going to take statements from all six of you," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "I’m going to show them to the superintendent, and I’m going to explain to him why I don't intend to issue any kind of media release about this. I’m going to hope he sees that there was no other way out of the impossible situation you put me in today, and also that he is as ready to drop the subject as I will be. And then we will both hope that the Coopers are not the kind of family who call regularly to check on the progress of their son’s homicide."

"You had a choice," Lynda muttered, staring at his shoes. "Sarah thought you’d tell the truth. Don’t think she quite knew what she wanted, but deep down, she thought you’d tell the truth. You chose the lie too."

He stopped, frustrated. She was right. As annoying as it was, she was right.

Finally, Lynda lifted her head and fixed him in the eye. "I’ll make you a deal," she said.

"Been doing quite a bit of that lately, haven’t you?"

"I can offer you statements. But you’ll take them on my terms, in my time. You’ll talk to my friends in the location that they choose."

"You really have picked up some negotiating skills," said Carl, amused in spite of everything.

"Had them already. And I haven’t finished," Lynda snapped. "You’ll talk to them where they choose. And you _won’t_ talk to all of them."

"Let me guess," Carl said. "I’m not to go anywhere near Colin Mathews."

She looked startled, but set her jaw stubbornly. "Exactly."

"Lynda, I’ve seen him. I interviewed him in hospital, I saw how he was today. He doesn’t need to relive what happened to him. I know that. I didn’t realise you did too."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," she retorted. "I just don’t want you to have to talk to the little moron. He was half-dead for a lot of it, anyway. The rest of us will give far better statements."

Carl smiled. "Lynda, I’m sure he’d thank you for it if he was in any kind of condition to notice that you care."

She raised her eyebrows. "Do we have a deal?"

"Yes, Lynda," he said, managing not to roll his eyes. "You tell me where your friends will feel more comfortable talking to me, and we will do without a statement from Colin."

"Good," she said.

Carl watched her as she scuffed her shoe against the ground. "I expect something eloquent from Frazz," he said. "He’s had enough practice by now."

That earned him a laugh. "I wouldn’t have believed it of him," she said. "The TV panel thing, I mean, and all the letters he wrote to the national papers."

"He’s done some very good work," said Carl. 

"He didn’t even argue with me," said Lynda, her face serious again. "When I told him we were going to save Donald, I mean. The others all argued – well, except Colin-" She shuddered at some recollection. "But Frazz didn’t say anything. He just sort of disappeared, and then next thing he was on TV arguing for gun control."

"He made the best he could out of your decision," Carl said. "But I can’t let it continue now."

"He’ll be disappointed," Lynda said.

"So will I. He was really making a difference."

The soft thump of footsteps in the grass made both of them look up. Spike Thomson was approaching them.

"Ready to go, boss?" he asked cheerfully of Lynda.

"Please," she said, looking unusually small.

Spike looked at Carl, and stuck his hands uncomfortably into his pockets. "Inspector," he said with a nod.

"Spike," Carl said, returning the nod.

Spike shifted his gaze awkwardly back to Lynda. "Well, we’re off then. I can’t wait to get home. Or is it home that can’t wait to get me? Either way, we’ve missed each other."

"Are you completely mad?" she snapped, a spark lighting her eyes. "You think you’re not going back to work today? Spike, our sales are up this week, and do you know what that means?"

"It means there’s a bunch of really morbid people out there?"

"It means this is no time to slack off! I told you this morning I needed your notes on the bridge story by this afternoon."

"And I’ve kinda been busy today, Lynda!"

"My point exactly. There’s a lot to catch up on!"

Carl caught a grin from Spike as they both turned to leave, a spring in Lynda’s step that wasn’t there before.

Lynda hadn’t gone two steps before she stopped and turned back. "Inspector," she said uncertainly.

"Be seeing you soon, Lynda," he said.

"Right," she said. "I’ll keep it in mind when I draw up the roster for this week."

But she still didn’t leave, biting her lip as she looked at him. Finally, she said, "I’m sorry."

He sighed. "Lynda, you’ve made things very awkward for me. But I hope that’s all you’re apologising for."

She looked down.

"This is the only funeral, Lynda," he said, trying to catch her eye. "And that’s partly because of what you did in there. All of you. You handled it well. You kept each other alive."

"Course we did," Spike put in, giving her a good-natured nudge. "It’s a lot of work to train new staff. We go to the extremes to hang on to the people we have – right, boss?"

She didn’t even smile.

"I _know_ , Lynda," said Carl. "I know how easily it all could have been different. If you had misjudged, and Kenny had still listened to you, he might have been shot. If you all hadn’t relaxed too early, Colin mightn’t have been. If you'd never published that article, maybe none of this would have happened at all. But you can’t second guess, Lynda. Trust me on this."

He probably imagined the liquid shining in her eyes as she looked up, because a moment later it was gone. "I know," she said, an edge to her voice. "I can’t control everything, I know. I'm just sorry if I - you know. Made things worse."

Carl paused. "It will sort itself out," he said. "You’ll help me fix it, like we just agreed, and then we really can forget all about this."

She smiled. "Right. Interviews. Roster. Lots to do. Spike, what are you waiting for? Let’s go."

They turned, moving in mirror image of each other. Carl watched them walk across the grass back towards the little knot of dark-clad mourners by the entrance to the church, and thought that he must not have learned anything out of all this, because he had just lied again.

But then again, so had Lynda Day.


End file.
